


The Mourning After

by Rheaird_of_Life



Category: Agent Carter (TV), Captain America (Movies)
Genre: F/M, Jarvis is jarvis, Mostly Fluff, a bit of angst, yes this is exactly what you think it's going to be
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-13
Updated: 2018-01-13
Packaged: 2019-03-04 02:02:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,042
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13354170
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rheaird_of_Life/pseuds/Rheaird_of_Life
Summary: Steve finds his way back to Peggy. She's not the only one in for a surprise.





	The Mourning After

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [soon we'll be without the moon](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1042107) by [Siria](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Siria/pseuds/Siria). 



> You should probably check that one out first if you haven't already done so, although it's not essential to understand this story.
> 
> Something similar has probably been done a hundred times before but I just felt compelled to write this anyway

She was in the middle of a phone call with Angie when the doorbell rang.

“Can you get that please?” she called, covering the receiver first so as not to deafen her friend.

“Right away,” came the response, prompt as always.

She can see swift movement out of the corner of her eye, where she's lounging on the couch, pumps off, glass of white wine in hand. A much deserved luxury after the day she had. It didn't matter what her title was, there was always another pigheaded and moronic man to contend with on a daily basis, always someone questioning her authority simply because she was a woman. That's why she appreciated Angie so much. Before she made it as a Broadway star, she had worked in a diner for years. She knew all too well how incredibly idiotic and entitled a great deal of the male population was.

Out of habit she half listened in on the stilted greeting currently taking place at her front door. More than once there had been a Hydra assassin waiting to greet her, a threat that never seemed to be completely wiped out. No one had tried anything in over a year, but despite changing her location several times, and using aliases to purchase the properties, they always seemed to find her. And since she hadn't been expecting anyone tonight, she was all the more wary. Especially because there was a sudden and palpable silence.

She put Angie on standby and snuck towards the door, grabbing her revolver along the way. As she rounded the corner, gun raised, she heard him for the first time since their ill fated radio call.

“I must have the wrong house,” he said, voice haggard, but still recognizable. “I was told that this woman,” there was a pause of several moments, “lived here.”

Just like her recurring dance dream, she froze, unable to breathe.

“Assuming she does,” said Jarvis, “who should I say is calling?”

“Steve Rogers,” he replied. “She knows me.”

Peggy dropped the revolver with a clatter, which caused Jarvis to turn around, her daughter, Christine, in hand. Before she had a chance to get irritated with him for bringing her to the door in these uncertain times, her eyes locked with Steve's. Or at least, who she _thought_ was Steve. He was far from the picturesque vision in her dreams. This version was worn out and weary, had long stringy hair and a full, matted beard in place. His uniform was filthy and in tatters, unrecognizable. She couldn't be certain from this distance, but judging by the way Jarvis was discreetly turning away, she could only assume he smelled about as good as he looked; like he had just crash landed Valkyrie yesterday.

None of that mattered though. Not if he was really here.

“Steve?” she said breathlessly.

“Peggy,” he said formerly, with confusing stiffness.

What was the matter with him?

She stepped forward slowly until she was side by side with Jarvis and her daughter. This close there could be no doubt. He had finally come back to her. The realization left her a bit light headed so she placed a steadying hand on Jarvis' forearm.

Steve eyed the action, then the three of them together, gaze lingering on Jarvis' wedding ring. His expression changed from one of quiet joy to one of disbelief. All at once she had a horrible sinking feeling of what was going on in his tired mind.

Before she had a chance to explain the situation, he took off down the street, storming away like he was chasing after Dr. Erskine's murderer with his newfound abilities.

“Steve!” she yelled, to no effect. “Come back!”

“I don't believe he heard you, Miss Carter,” said Jarvis, to which she fully intended to give a death glare to, but he was one step ahead of her, anticipating her wishes like always.

“Bless you, Jarvis,” she said, grabbing the car keys from his hand and sprinting towards the driveway in nothing but her stockings.

She simultaneously buckled in and started the engine. Or attempted to. The damn thing wouldn't start. “Oh for crying out loud!” she huffed, hitting the steering wheel. “Of all the times not to work, you choose _now_!” She smacked the wheel again. “Start you blasted thing!”

For the third time she turned the key and the engine thankfully roared to life, just like she roared out of the driveway.

“Well, that was something,” said Jarvis to Christine. “I suppose we should inform Miss Martinelli that your mother won't be coming back to the phone. Unless of course you have something to say to her?”

“Smelly man,” said Christine, making a face.

“Quite,” he concurred.

Already she could barely make him out in the distance, he was just that fast. It didn't help that the roads were icy and the streetlamps weren't exactly maintained as well as they should be. She passed patches of near darkness every few seconds, as she went faster and faster, desperate to gain ground, desperate to keep him in her line of sight. She was afraid that if she didn't, she would never see him again, that this miraculous reappearance would be for naught. She let him get away once before, she didn't intend to make the same mistake twice.

In her haste, she nearly clipped a lonely pedestrian, who jumped back at the last second and hurled unheard insults at her. Under normal circumstances, she would've felt guilty. As it was, as long as she did only minimal property damage, she figured she was doing fabulously. She careened and fishtailed around yet another corner, noticing a flash of movement down an alleyway. It was too tight a fit for her vehicle, but she knew where the path led, so she took an alternate route, hoping to cut him off on the far side.

Unfortunately, her plan worked a little too well.

She hit him.

_Bugger!_

The competing velocities served to cancel each other out and he simply fell over, her car lurching backwards a bit at the impact before coming to a dead halt. Without her seat belt on, she surely would have gone flying through the windshield. She couldn't feel it yet, but she knew this impact was likely to cause a bruise or two, possibly even cracked a rib-

“Steve!” she yelped, ripping the life saving restraint off and hopping out of the car to check on his prone form. She knelt beside him, looking for any blood, any obvious signs of damage. She couldn't see any, but that didn't mean they weren't there. He was strong, but he wasn't invincible. Her hand hovered over his back, afraid to touch him, to move him, to potentially make things even worse than she already had. “Steve, please!” she begged, near tears. “Please be okay!”

In response, he groaned, and she would've kissed him if his face weren't currently plastered to the concrete. He stirred slowly and then raised a bleary eye to hers.

“I'm so sorry!” she lamented. “Are you okay?”

He groaned again and then pushed off the ground, Peggy coming to his aid as best she could. They worked together until he was in a standing, slightly swaying position, and then they just stared at one another. And indeed, he had smelled better, though she barely noticed that at the moment.

He had a harried look about him and for a second she was afraid that he was going to take off again, so she gripped his hands tighter. Apparently sensing her discomfort, his posture relaxed...but only slightly.

She licked her lips, an action that didn't go unnoticed by Steve. Perhaps there was hope for them yet. “The man you saw me with...that's just Jarvis. He's married-”

“So I saw,” rasped Steve, awkwardly shifting, glancing at the ground.

“-to a lovely woman, who is _not_ me,” she finished.

He whipped his head up. “You're not married to that man?”

Peggy squeezed his hands. “No.”

He seemed surprised and pleased by this revelation and she felt the beginnings of a smile taking hold. It was cut short by his face morphing to stone again.

“And that's better, how?” he accused, an obvious disapproving look to his eye.

She couldn't believe he still didn't get it, that he _really_ thought her capable of ever being a married man's mistress.

“Jarvis is Howard's _butler,”_ she elaborated fully, annoyed at his glibness. “He helps me out from time to time. That's _all_.”

“Howard's butler?” he muttered, face scrunched up.

“Yes, you remember _Howard_ , don't you?”

“Hard not to,” he conceded, with a slightly wry glance down at his once eye catching outfit.

“Indeed,” she responded with a quirk of her lips.

The moment of levity was short lived as he swayed dangerously.

“Come along then,” she said in a businesslike way, attempting to guide him back to the car. She wasn't sure what the chances were of it starting now that the equivalence of another vehicle had smashed into it, but she had to try. Despite causing a considerable amount of commotion, there was no one else around to hitch a ride with. Probably because it was bloody cold out, a fact she was becoming increasingly aware of in her stockinged feet and lack of jacket.

Predictably, it didn't work.

“Damn it to hell,” she grumbled, hitting the dashboard this time.

She turned to look to Steve, who was propped up against the car. “Guess we're walking back,” he said.

“Can you manage it?” she asked, guiltily.

He shrugged. “We'll find out.”

Peggy got out of the ruined car and slung his arm around her shoulder. His considerable weight made her stagger for a bit, but then they were on their way, as if they were headed home after the final battle, which in a manner of speaking, they were. Each step was like pins and needles, her feet numb and painful. She kept her discomfort to herself. It was the least she could do after their less than stellar reunion.

Part way there, Steve stopped, nearly throwing her. “Who was that girl?”

She swallowed through the lump in her throat. “All in due time,” she replied, suddenly nervous.

He gave her a probing, uncomfortable look and then nodded once. They started again and when she slipped on some ice, he seemed to notice she wasn't wearing shoes, or _any_ proper winter attire.

“Jesus, Peggy, you must be frozen,” he scolded. Before she could say anything to the contrary, he scooped her up into his arms. Despite her best efforts, her heart started beating wildly. Though they had been considerably closer years ago, he had never carried her bridle style. The implication made her blush, a fact that was thankfully covered up by the cold and her already pink cheeks. She had a fleeting moment where she almost laughed; a stranger looking pair would be hard to come by in these parts, which was saying something since this was New York City.

Due to his superior metabolism, Steve ran hot, so it was delightful to curl into his body further. She resisted the urge to place her freezing lips to his warm and inviting neck. She didn't fancy being dropped, and that would no doubt happen if she startled him like that. Besides, he really _was_ filthy. Which reminded her, what the hell had happened to him?

“Where were you, Steve?” she asked quietly. “We looked everywhere, but we couldn't find you.”

_We though_ _ t you were on the bottom of the  _ _ocean._

“The arctic,” he said simply.

“Yes, I gathered as much,” she said dryly.

Apparently sensing her side eye, he looked over, putting their faces much too close together. Their breath visibly commingled during an extended moment of tension in which his gaze dropped to her lips.

He faced forward again. “I don't know where exactly.”

Stamping down her disappointed, she carried on, “How did you survive all this time?”

“I guess I was injured pretty badly. Must have been in some sort of hibernation while my body healed itself.” He grinned faintly. “Another year and you probably would've mistaken me for a polar bear, huh?”

She refrained from rolling her eyes and he got serious again. “I'm sorry it took me so long to get here.”

It was just like him to apologize for something completely out of his control. Considering he was saying this meant that he was aware of the time jump. Many had presumed him dead, had even held a nationwide funeral that she had refused to attend. The fact that she was in his arms again was a small miracle. All things considered, four years wasn't that bad, though it had felt like an eternity regardless.

“And _how_ did you get here?”

She knew SHIELD had nothing to do with it or else they would've given her advance warning. The slightest hint of a whisper of his whereabouts would have been investigated thoroughly. But there had been nothing but radio silence for years now and she had all but given up hope that she would ever see him again. Dead or alive.

“You guided me.”

“Sorry?” she said, completely lost.

He removed an arm from beneath her legs and fiddled inside a pocket for several moments. Then he held out his compass before her face, her own face looking back at her. The compass was broken, stuck in a southwesterly direction. Likely it broke on impact. It would have been less than useless in that event.

She noticed the mischievous turn of his lips again as he pocketed it and slipped his other arm beneath her once more.

She scowled further as he continued to elaborate.

“Walked mostly. Swam some too. The penguins are surprisingly friendly. Shared their fish with me on occasion.”

“ _Steve,”_ she snapped after she had had enough of his shenanigans.

He laughed a bit and then said, “I'm being serious, Peggy. I know it's hard to believe, but it's the truth. Once I got back to the mainland, to America, I showed your picture around until someone pointed me in the right direction. It took me days to find your exact location,” he turned his head again, “but here we are.”

“Here we are,” she echoed, staring straight into his eyes. At this distance the piercing blue was almost more than she could stand. Most nights she was haunted by those eyes, by the last glimpse she had gotten before he boarded Valkyrie.

His gaze dropped down to her lips again and she was about to kiss him when a voice said, “Spot of tea, then, ma'am?”

Peggy looked over to see that they had made it back to her house and were currently standing at the front door. Jarvis looked at them, politely waiting for a response.

“That...” she cleared her throat, “that would be lovely, Jarvis. Thank you.”

He held the door open wider as Steve carried her over the threshold, and once again she felt flushed by the notion of what generally went on after that. Steve deposited her to the carpeted floor, the sensation equal parts pleasant and unpleasant given the state of her woebegone feet. Jarvis closed the door, wrapped a blanket around her shoulders, and finally handed her a cup of perfect temperature tea. A couple of sips later and blessed feeling began to return to her various limbs.

Honestly, if Jarvis hadn't already been taken, she might very well have fancied him. His cooking ability alone made him a far superior match to that of the handful of men she had briefly dated in the last couple of years. But she wouldn't be telling _him_ that. Or Steve for that matter.

Jarvis walked past them and then thought better of it. “I've taken the liberty of drawing a bath, Mr. Rogers,” he said. The prim and proper man scrutinized Steve's appearance with a vaguely affronted look. “And perhaps a trim and shave afterwards?”

Steve stroked his beard a few times, looked to her thoughtfully. “I don't know, it's kind of growing on me, wouldn't you say?”

She put her tea aside, took his arm and dragged him upstairs. “Bathe first. Then we'll negotiate.”

A set of men's clothes had already been laid out by the sink. She supposed they must have been Jarvis' spare pair. Although she did own some of her own for undercover purposes. Though these would undoubtedly not fit Steve. She wasn't entirely sure that Jarvis' clothing would be up to snuff either. But they'd cross that bridge if it came to that.

Steve took one look at the steaming hot bath water, then glanced at her and cheekily said, “You joining me?”

Peggy blushed again, and this time it was fully on display. Steve grinned wearily at her. She wondered if this attempt at seduction was simply borne out of extreme exhaustion.

“ _Bathe_ ,” she reiterated, giving him a light shove to the chest.

She wasn't sure if he was humouring her or not when he staggered backward into the bathroom. She really hoped so...

In any case, once he was through, she pulled the door closed and headed back downstairs for the rest of her tea. And to put her feet up by the fire. Once settled under her blanket, she recalled she had left Angie hanging. She was certainly going to lose her mind once she learned who was back in her life. Angie only knew a small part of the story there, a necessity in order to keep her cover intact, and her friend safe from harm. To her dismay the phone had already been hung up. It was probably for the best. Only a select few knew the full truth of the matter, and she intended to keep it that way forever if possible. The urge to divulge dangerous secrets died almost as soon as it had formed.

So thinking, she suddenly remembered that she had a daughter, and that it was past her bedtime.

Jarvis materialized by her side then. “Christine's been put to bed,” he assured her before she could do more than open her mouth. “Although there were a great many questions about the...scary, smelly man.”

“I don't doubt it,” she murmured, lost in thought.

“What do you intend to tell him, Miss Carter?” prompted Jarvis after several moments of silence.

“Everything,” she replied confidently once she had made up her mind.

“Are you sure that's wise?”

“He deserves to know the truth,” she said. “After everything that he's been through, it's the least I can give him.”

“Very well,” he said. “Would you like me to stay, Miss Carter or-”

“You've done more than enough for me today, Mr. Jarvis. Go home to your family.”

He was hesitating for some reason.

“I can handle a pair of scissors,” she added as an afterthought, which brought a relieved look to Jarvis' appearance.

“Thank Goodness,” he said with a slight shiver, as if the sight of an unkempt man was the worst thing he had ever experienced.

She smirked at the thought and Jarvis bid her goodnight.

Peggy finished her glass of wine and then got up to get another. This too she drained in a few gulps. If she were the sort to pace, this surely would have been the time to do so. But she wasn't, so she didn't.

Instead, she tapped her finger against her now empty glass, staring up at the ceiling. She was directly below him right now and sometime in the near future he was going to know everything. Perhaps not tonight, but soon.

It was disturbingly quiet. She took a steadying breath and then decided to go check up on him. The last thing she needed was Captain America drowning in her tub.

Peggy rapped on the bathroom door, quietly at first and then a little louder. “Everything all right in there, Steve?”

When there was no response, she panicked and pushed in. Upon seeing him sleeping soundly, her heart rate dived back down. His little smile of contentment brought her own to her face. She moved in closer, itching to reach out a hand to his face, but not daring to wake him up when he looked so peaceful. Poor man must have been dead on his feet. Once he stopped moving, all of his hardship crashed upon him at once, the result of which was currently laid before her.

It was a good thing that he was quite a big fellow, otherwise he probably _would_ have gone under. The thought made her glance lower and then she caught herself and chastised. Now was not the time for lewd notions. Perhaps later though...it had been awhile...

_Enough Peggy!_

There was no denying that he was still a peak physical specimen, far removed from what he once was. Although in essentials he was ever Steve. The good hearted man who always put others before himself. His self sacrifice is what led to this current unusual situation. It pained her to think of what might have been had he made a different choice. She was only kidding herself though. There had never been a choice, not really.

It was hard to say with all of his facial hair, but she thought he looked completely unchanged. While she had gained a few more wrinkles and years on him, he was the same. Part of her feared he would stay that way forever, and he wouldn't want her twenty years down the line...but then she reassured herself. This was Steve Rogers. He would want her even when she was old and grey. 

Content to just watch him for awhile, she did. Somewhere in the haze of observation and remembrance, she unknowingly started to caress his face. It was during this repeated action that he finally stirred, the water long gone cold. At first he seemed startled by his surroundings but then he took one look at her and relaxed.

He placed a hand over hers and smiled. “I thought it was all a dream.”

“So did I,” she smiled back.

He took her hand from his face and brought it to his lips. She shuddered at the long ago, but not forgotten sensation of his lips on her skin.

“Have you come to join me after all?” he said, half joking, half hopeful.

“You may be accustomed to arctic waters, but I'm not,” she informed him primly, though with some difficulty. The touch of his lips had awakened something in her, something rather inconvenient.

“There are ways of fixing that,” he said, rubbing soothing circles over the back of her hand.

This action and his hypnotic gaze almost had her relenting, but then she got a hold of herself and grabbed the bottle of shampoo. “Clean up now,” she said thrusting it into his chest. “Use that too.” She gave a pointed look to the soap, which he pouted at. It was like dealing with her daughter during bath time. “Perhaps once you've finished here, we can reconsider your proposal.”

“Really?” he perked up.

She nodded in response which had him grabbing for the soap with all haste. She rolled her eyes and stood to leave, only then realizing just how long she had been crouched over, kneeling. She winced at the accumulated ills of the night. The worst of which was the searing diagonal down her torso which she now clutched.

Steve stopped in his tracks, glancing over at her in guilt. “Did I...do that?” he pointed ruefully. When she didn't respond he added, “Oh, Peggy, I'm so sor-”

She placed a finger to his lips which hushed him up nicely. “That's enough of that. You're far too nice by half, Steve.”

He continued to fret for a bit but then grinned, “Isn't that what you love about me though?”

Slightly taken aback she nevertheless answered, “One of the reasons, yes. There isn't much I don't love about you, Steve Rogers.”

He seemed dumbfounded by this response, which gave her ample time to take her leave, and calm her own self down. They had never given voice to their true feelings, but it had been present in every action between them until it finally culminated in their last night together before everything went to shit.

And now she was pretty sure that she had just let the cat out of the bag. She was frankly surprised not to hear the water sloshing as he jumped out of the tub and knelt before her in the buff to confess his undying affections.

The only woman who could bring Captain America to his knees.

Peggy snorted at the fantasy and then chastised herself again. She wasn't a school girl anymore, she didn't need any silly romantic gestures. Though, she wouldn't say no to them either, if they by some chance happened to occur somewhere down the line.

Besides, all this talk of marriage was making her uneasy. So to distract herself while she waited the no doubt short time until Steve had finished bathing, she went to go check in on her daughter. Just as Jarvis said, she was sound asleep, with a similar expression to that of Steve. She sighed and rubbed a hand over her face and then headed back downstairs for some more wine.

Despite the excitement of the last couple of hours, she felt pleasantly sedated and found herself drifting in and of consciousness from her well worn spot on the couch. So it was with bleary eyes that she first glimpsed him again as he came into the living room.

“Uh, Peggy?” he said timidly. “You awake?”

“Yes, of course,” she replied. And after another couple of seconds she blinked this into reality.

The clearer he got, the more she frowned. Not because Steve hadn't shaved or cut his hair, but because he looked like a half drowned lion in a towel. Apparently she was right after all. The clothes didn't fit. She wondered if she would go upstairs later and find them shredded on the bathroom floor.

“Do you have anything else I could wear?” he muttered, shifting from foot to foot.

“Mr. Jarvis' style not up to your liking?” she teased, stifling a laugh.

“ _Peggy._ ”

“I'll see if I can't find you something more... _appropriate_.” She got up and when she was level with him, albeit off to the side, she whispered, “And if not, well, it's nothing I haven't seen before.”

She refrained from putting a hand to his chest – though she dearly wanted to - and instead gave him a little pat on the tush.

He jumped. “Peggy!”

The only thing she could think of to give him belonged to her brother. While Michael had been buried in his regimentals and most of the rest of his clothing donated, her mother, bless her soul, had kept a couple of items for herself. Granted Michael hadn't been as burly as Steve, few were, but she suspected he would be at least able to get the clothes on properly.

She retrieved the dusty box from the top of her closet and placed it on the bed. Sure enough she found a pair of beige trousers and a plain white cotton shirt. An outfit for the common labouring man, which her brother had been before the war. Unfortunately, they were rather musty smelling and she had just gotten him cleaned.

Oh well.

When she came back down to the living room, it was to find Steve perusing the framed photographs lining the inactive fireplace. Her heart lurched for a second and she felt faintly nauseated. He turned around at her entrance, a particular favourite in his hand. It was of Howard, Christine and her at the inauguration of SHIELD. She hadn't wanted to bring her, but Howard had convinced her to and now she was eternally grateful that she did. It was one of the most important moments of her life.

It was also the _last_ thing she wanted to talk about right this instant.

She felt like a cornered animal while he stared at her. It was probably just as well to get this over with now. She could only postpone the inevitable for so long. As long as she kept her head and explained the situation calmly, Steve would have no choice but to understand.

“She's yours,” she blurted, grimacing at her own stupidity. She cursed herself for that third glass of wine. She should've known better.

“Excuse me?” he said. “Who's mine?” Inadvertently she looked to the photograph. Then he clued in, broke the frame and glass and began blubbering. “Th-the girl...the one in the...the one at the d-door...” he looked comical as he continued, “m-mine?!” He gestured between them, “Yours?! Little girl?!”

“Yes,” she said. “And do try to keep your voice down.”

“But h-how?!” he said wide eyed, completely disregarding her.

“I shouldn't think I'd need to explain that one to you, considering you were there.”

It was his turn to blush. In a very awkward manner in which he got brighter and brighter, he queried, “But...didn't you...” he gestured vaguely to his crotch, “ _use_ something?”

Perversely, the more embarrassed he got, the less rattled she felt. And indeed it was almost becoming an effort not to laugh at his reaction, so much so that she was barely distracted by his current lack of clothing.

“Well, yes,” she explained, “but it apparently wasn't designed to... _withstand_ someone like you.”

By now she thought he was close to setting himself on fire, which frankly would be appreciated considering the general chill to the room.

After several beats he seemed to get over himself a bit and made fleeting eye contact again. “What's her name?”

_Time to rip the bandage off._

Out of habit she took a more militaristic stance. “Christine Sarah,” she hesitated before adding, “Stark.”

That made him whip his head up. He gaped at her for a rather long time. “You mean to say-”

“I married Howard Stark, yes.”

“B-but...why?!”

She sighed. “Necessity.” Steve frowned so she elaborated, “Society has never been very kind to women bearing children out of wedlock, Steve. I was already a pariah as it was, this...addition would have sealed my fate. And I had a lot to do still.” She paused a moment to let him digest that. “There was another reason. I needed to keep her safe, her true identity a secret. She's...special.”

“You mean to say-”

“She has begun demonstrating certain abilities, yes.” Peggy tried to lighten the mood a bit. “She's becoming a right pain in the arse.”

His eyes lit up a bit and then simmered once more. “What happened with Howard? Did you...” he tapped the tips of his index fingers together a few times, “fondue?”

She didn't grasp what he was getting at immediately and then she exclaimed, “Heavens no! Doubtless he would have been thrilled. But our marriage was only in title, Steve. We never consummated it.”

Steve relaxed a bit more. There had always been a certain level of jealous rivalry there. She hoped perhaps they were done with this topic now.

“So you never even kissed him?”

_Oh for Pity's sake!_

“Yes, Steve, I kissed him,” she said, doing her best not to roll her eyes. She crossed her arms instead and tried to draw patience from the action. “Generally a requirement at the end of a _wedding_ ceremony.”

_And for keeping up appearances in public._

He grumbled silently about that and then glanced to her ringless fingers, “Peggy, are you  _still_ married to him?”

“No, we amicably divorced about two years ago now, an act I'm sure many young women were over the moon about.”

“He was faithful to you for all that time?” he asked, dubiously.

“I dare say not,” she said, completely unaffected. “He simply got much better at keeping his...indiscretions out of the public eye.”

Steve became unnecessarily indignant, which unfortunately had the effect of him crumpling the photograph further still. “Next time I see him I'm going to-”

She stepped right up to him and cut him off. “Howard was exceedingly kind to me during a very difficult part of my life. I'll be forever grateful. And you should endeavour the same.”

That seemed to shut him up good. And with that she finally had an opportunity to hand him Michael's clothes. Dutifully he took them and headed into the kitchen to change.

In the meantime, she cleaned up the shards of glass and took the opportunity to reinvigorate the fire. The first flames came into fruition when Steve emerged, an apple in hand. She was struck dumb by just how much he resembled Michael in that first moment. Then she blinked and the sense of deja vu passed. She stoked the fire a bit more and then stood, taking the apple out of his hand right before he could bite it.

“Let me make you something a little more substantial.”

And by make she meant, reheating the lasagna that Jarvis had cooked for dinner. Steve was all too happy to comply and by the time he had finished eating, he had devoured the rest of it, or about three quarters of the lasagna. It was supposed to have lasted them the next couple of meals. If worst came to worst she could cook, but she'd only do that in a very dire situation indeed.

Afterwards he belched loudly, then looked over at her, as if suddenly realizing she was there. He looked a little embarrassed, as if he thought she had never been around men – or women - who passed gas of any sort.

“I'll be sure to pass that on to Mr. Jarvis tomorrow,” she informed seriously.

He covered his embarrassment by taking a long draught of milk, draining the glass dry.

She stuck the dishes into the sink to soak and then they settled in on the sofa, an easy silence enveloping them as they watched the flames flicker. Despite the room warming up, she tucked into his side more, to which he drew her even closer. It was a considerable comfort just to be able to listen to the steady beat of his heart.

Eventually his gaze went higher, back to the shattered frame. He looked to her and said, “SHIELD?”

“Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement and Logistics Division,” she rattled off out of habit.

He chuckled. “How long did it take to come up with _that_?”

“Had a whole team working on it. Took months.”

“You're serious?”

“As serious as you were about the penguins.”

He laughed again. Then turned thoughtful. “I missed you too.”

Then she was in his lap and they were hugging, and it occurred to her that they had never actually done this before. It was odd to have been through so much and not to have shared one of the simplest human connections. She thought she could get quite used to this, a sentiment Steve seemed to share as he sighed deeply, breathing her in, and squeezing her tighter. Miraculously, Michael's shirt held up under the strain.

Of course, given the nature of the car accident, this added pressure served to make her gasp slightly in pain, a fact he caught onto like lightning.

“Oh my gosh,” he bemoaned, letting go of her instantly. He was looking at her like she were radioactive, like he ought to chuck her across the room. It was very hard on a girls self esteem.

“It's fine,” she told him regardless. She put a hand to his face. “You didn't hurt me. Don't worry.”

And then to wipe that guilty look off his face, she finally kissed him. Apparently he was taken off guard because he didn't reciprocate right away. But once he did, it was exactly how she recalled, warm and hesitant at first but deeper and hungrier as time went on. He kept his hands firmly planted on her hips so as to avoid repeating his previous mistake and she slipped her fingers into his scraggly wet hair, only to wrap around his neck instead. It would have been wonderful if not for one thing.

His damn beard.

No matter how hard she tried to ignore the bushy and wiry bristles, she couldn't. The more he got into it, the more they scratched against her face, and the more she was taken out of the moment. Which was damn unfortunate because she could feel his arousal growing between them, a fact all the more compounded by his lack of drawers.

Still, she attempted to persevere. If there was one thing Peggy wasn't, it was a quitter. However, she found that as she pressed on, and the reality of the situation fully dawned on her, she suddenly lost control of her faculties and began to cry.

Steve pulled back again, hazed expression rapidly turning to one of concern. He placed his hands on either side of her face, thumbs wiping the tears away. It was a fruitless effort. They refused to stop falling.

“Peggy, what's wrong?” he frowned, voice deeper than usual.

“Nothing,” she answered thickly. “I just never thought I'd see you again. That you'd never get to meet your daughter.”

He swallowed slowly. “Can I...would you take me to her?”

Peggy blinked at that - several more tears dropping - then nodded. Steve stood, easily taking her with him. They stayed closely together for a moment, and then she took his hand and led him upstairs. She pushed through the second door on the left. There she was, still soundly asleep despite all of the commotion. The wonders of youth she supposed.

The curtains were drawn but the faint glow of the night light was enough to illuminate the room some, casting somewhat ominous shadows on their daughters peaceful face. It was a struck of fortune that Christine resembled herself much more than Steve. The general populace at large was rather dimwitted, but even _they_ would have been suspicious had she borne a child with blonde hair and blue eyes that had such healthy lungs that they could shatter glass.

She had to tug on his hand a few times to actually get him to pass through the threshold. Then he moved past her and stood poised over Christine for quite some time. Eventually he knelt beside her and reached out a shaky hand, then halted, glancing over his shoulder.

“Go on,” she whispered. She smiled slightly. “She _probably_ won't bite.”

Christine was thankfully more or less over that stage, which was just as well since she was liable to accidentally rip a chunk out of you, which Howard learned to his detriment.

Steve caressed her face a few times, to which she stirred momentarily. He froze, then kissed her forehead and said something so low that she couldn't make it out. Steve stood and came back over to her, a soft smile on his features, which she already had in place watching them together, her heart full for the first time in a long time.

She took his hand again and they vacated the room. This time she took him towards her own bedroom. On the way she asked him what he had said to Christine.

For some reason he seemed a bit embarrassed, which just made her all the more curious.

“A prayer,” he muttered. “For protection.”

They hadn't had a chance to discuss this yet, but his Catholicism would pose future problems. She was a non-believer. A divorcee. Marriage would be difficult. Which, knowing Steve, he would insist upon. But that was an issue for another day. As it was, she was exhausted, physically and emotionally, and she needed to sleep.

She entered her room, shedding clothes as she went, until she was in nothing but her brassiere and underwear. Now on the far side of the bed, she looked over to Steve, to find his attention raptly focused on her. The last time she had been in a similar state of undress they had made love for the first (and last) time.

Temporarily, her body responded to the gaze, to his obvious desire. In the end though, she decided she'd rather wait, not the least of which was because she had no effective means of contraception. One super powered kid with Steve was quite enough, thank you very much. She supposed she'd have no choice but to get Howard involved in her love life, something she was definitely _not_ looking forward to, and would no doubt mortify Steve to no end once he found out.

That made her chuckle a bit which served to snap Steve out of his daze.

“Are you coming to bed?” He seemed nervous, which was endearing, if nonsensical. “To _sleep_ ,” she added, hoping to set him at ease.

Instantly he relaxed and made his way over to the near side of the bed. She climbed under the covers and he followed suit, leaving his clothing on. They faced each other for a moment and then she tucked herself into his chest, her favourite place. He wrapped his arms around her loosely, pressing a kiss to the top of her head.

It wasn't long til the steady beat of his heart lulled her into slumber.

About three hours later, there was a great crash. They startled awake to find the door to the bedroom on the ground, a guilty looking Christine standing nearby.

“Sowry, mommy,” pouted Christine.

“It's okay, darling,” she reassured, pulling on her robe. “We'll work on that.”

Christine's eyes went wide at the sight of Steve, who was off the bed in a fighting stance. There were any number of reasons why she might find his presence alarming, so it was hardly a surprise when she screamed, smashing the vase by the windowsill, and ran away.

Steve looked to her gobsmacked. “What...what just happened?!”

“Shall I put on the kettle?” she said briskly as if nothing strange at all had happened.

“Peggy, wha-”

She swallowed his confusion with a kiss. “Welcome home.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> Title stolen from a Fringe soundtrack. It's very punny.
> 
> As usual, this turned out much longer than expected. One of these days I'll learn to edit myself more. Today is not that day.
> 
> So this could be a complete work...but I could also see myself doing a second part somewhere down the line. As it is though, I'm marking it as finished.
> 
> Anyway, y'all know what to do!


End file.
